“Everything’s a fuckin’ travesty with you, man! And what was all that shit about Vietnam? What the FUCK, has anything got to do with Vietnam? What the fuck are you talking about?”
Category Archives: Celebrity
MiniMichael
From Gawker: apparently the buskers in Grand Central Station are much more interesting than the ones in Waterfront, especially since Jill Hennessy made it big.
Baked Lobster Caught!
Half-baked, anyway. I suggest a scientific name Carlin Cheechinigus, but that’s subject to (dis-) approval.
This hallucinogenic beauty was caught off the coast of Maine, so the possibility exists that he was just on his way back from a wild party on the Gaspe, which would explain why he still looks half-baked.
Although it no doubt has an ironclad alibi. It’s underage, too, as are some of its most vociferous fans. Here is the report from the Bangor newspaper:
“Dude, it’s half orange and half, like, regular color for a lobster,” exclaimed Alyssa Bonin, 12, of Webster, Mass.
Sharp eyes there, Alyssa. Maybe a little bloodshot from the sounds of things, but still, sharp.
Mills intends to keep the two-toned lobster over the winter and have him on display for educational purposes, though he has no plans to name him.
“Lobsters are interesting but not personable,” he said.
We at the raincoaster blog beg, of course, to differ. Even our on the one hand shall not know what our on the other hand is doing
The rare 1-pound crustacean, caught earlier this week in Steuben, is a genetic mutation with a two-toned shell.
One side is the usual mottled dark green. The other side is the orange-red shade of a lobster that’s already spent some time in the hot pot.
The odds of this kind of mutation occurring are very rare – something like one in 50 million to 100 million, according to oceanarium staff. The chance of finding a blue lobster is far more common, at one in a million.
“Isn’t he pretty?” Bette Spurling of Southwest Harbor cooed Thursday as she stroked the lobster’s shell to calm him down.
Now that is the proper way to treat an addled celebrity. Not at all the way Jon Stewart did with the poor, hapless and handsome Butterscotch Stallion here (heartlessly stolen from Defamer):
Dear Ann Coulter, from Henry Rollins
The New Vidal and Capote
“Doug, you tiny little fairy, you arrested boy, I will break your back over my knee in the press and I will push your face inside out in private or public . . . Mention my name anywhere ever again, and we’re going to find out two things: First, whose word means anything anymore in this town. Second, how many times I can slam my fist into your face before someone pulls me off you.” He signed off: “Now you wait for it.”
and here it is, at Toby Young’s book party.
Gawker has the whole slideshow.
Jacob wrestles with an angel. You pick who’s who.
We hate these events, these self-importantant celebrations of a crowd’s collective arrogance. But once every three or four decades, something genuinely interesting happens. In this case, at Toby Young’s book party tonight at Soho House, the crowd was treated to two writers working out their mutual hatred like twelve-year-old boys. Former Page Sixer Ian Spiegelman lost his job in 2004 ostensibly because of a threatening email he sent to [insert sketchy adjective here] writer Doug Dechert (more backstory here). Tonight, these two were reunited and, after the right amount of lukewarm liquor, they worked their issues out with fisticuffs. There’s more to explain later in the forthcoming party crash, but at this hour the pictures are story enough. More bloodshed — or the drink-throwing sissy journalist version thereof —here
and a little background on the party here, from the Huffpo. If I could find it in the debris that is Diary-X, I would post my own review of Toby Young’s first book. All you really need to know is that I used the expression “Three-orgasm Schadenfreude.“
raincoaster 